


introversion is a gift

by sleep_pronoia (nap_princess)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Based on this dream I had about my soulmate, F/M, Hopeful Ending, I wrote this fic for me but y'all can read it if you want, Insecurities, Modern AU, Romance, Social Anxiety, Trust Issues, dream ghost, fics based on my real life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18511468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nap_princess/pseuds/sleep_pronoia
Summary: They had met, once upon a dream– BrandonSusan





	introversion is a gift

**introversion is a gift**

* * *

' _When I use a word,' Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, 'it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less'_

* * *

"Hey, do I make you happy?" Susan asks while they're both laying there under the sheets naked, and the writer within her wants this to be some kind of poetic symbolism for Brandon to be exposed and raw. It's silly,  _she knows she sounds silly_. Naïve, even. But, when Susan asks her boyfriend questions, she  **wants** him to answer with the utmost honesty.

(Not that _he_  owes it to her,  _nobody_  owes her anything. Susan's standards and the bar she has on people and their actions are so low that it may just be the ground.)

She doesn't know why, but the melody of  _You are my sunshine_  suddenly fills her mind. She remembers  _the beginning_ , a few lines of the song, at first reassuring, but then the rest is depressing. It's a disguise.

"Of course," Brandon answers and runs his long fingers along her dark hair. He'd hold her closer if they weren't already tangled together.

"Really?" She double checks.

"Yes." He hums, probably tired. "Why?

"I think I'm unlovable."

She hears him inhale, filling his chest with air. And he asks, "What makes you say that?"

She takes a moment to respond. "People leave. They always leave me." She says this in the tiniest voice, like she doesn't want him hearing it.

She's afraid –  _terrified_  – that he'd come to the realisation that she's not as good as he thinks she is and leave along with everyone else. After all, she's treated all her past lovers, family and friends, and even strangest the same way; never favouring one over the other or belittling someone for another. She's treated them the way everyone on earth should be treated – like a person, with respect and kindness – and yet  _they still leave her._

"Do you think so too?" She whispers into the space between his neck and collarbone. "Do you think people leave me because I'm unlovable?"

She doesn't meet his eyes though she knows his gaze will be nothing but kind. Instead, she lets her fingers walk along his chest, watching the way it rises. Hmm, she's lucky to be alive with him, but she's still curious on why things go wrong.

She waits for him to say  _something_.

But, he doesn't say  _anything_ , and in the dark, it's difficult to see if his eyes are fluttered open or if his mouth is moving.

"Brandon?" She bets, if she cocks her head the right angle, she bets she'll be close enough to count each of his reddish-brown eyelashes. "Are you asleep?"

And when he squeezes her shoulder to tell him he's listening yet refusing to answer, she feels her teeth grit together. His touch now feels like it burns her.

.

.

.

"I don't think I'll ever leave you," He answers her question the next day over breakfast, long legs striding into the dining room. The dramatic, loud socks she got him for Christmas stands out among his simple t-shirt and jeans.

"What?" She says between a mouthful of toast.

"Your question." He states, taking a seat beside her. "From last night, remember? You asked me what I thought."

" _Do you think so too? Do you think people leave me because I'm unlovable?"_

Oh.

_Oh._

"What took you so long to answer?" She tries not to pry as she says this. Yesterday may as well have been a dream (like how they met). If her tea wasn't still cooling, she would have taken a sip and choked on it.

"Well," He licks his lips, hands clenched together on the table. "I didn't want to say something carelessly. I wanted to think about it, I have to be careful with my words, don't I?" He says because  _he_  knows how much words mean to her and  _she_  knows how bad his social anxiety is. He replays moments over and over and over again in his mind and practices answering questions and tries not to stutter over his words.

She looks at his stiff state and immediate thinks,  _You're the enemy, Susan._  Brandon's such a sweetheart and she's making him feel  _so horrible_. She thinks she's acting like those people who bully him for being a wallflower and for being careful. She knows she is – maybe that's why people leave her.

"Also," He clears his throat. He is hesitant and he cannot meet her gaze. He reminds her of herself from last night. " _Also_ , I'm telling you this because I love you."

His sudden proclamation makes her feel odd. It's not  _everything_. It's the  **only**   _thing_.

Tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear, Susan only manages a pathetic grin and swallows down her food.

* * *

"Hey."

"Oh, hi," She greets him back, looking up from her laptop.

He leans in and plants a loving kiss, gently on the side of her forehead before flopping on her bed. She doesn't know who let him into the house or when he even rang the doorbell, but he's here now and his company is never unappreciated.

"Have you left the house at all since I last saw you?" He asks, tilting his head so that her screen is at eye-level.

Susan takes a moment, still affected by the sudden affection. Then she mentally starts counting the minutes and hours and days since she last laid her brown eyes on him. "No."

"Why?"

She frowns. It's not like she has a sudden case of agoraphobia. It's not that intense, it's just that … she's playing this online game and it's _easier_  to manage these fake, virtual beings than guess what's going on in the minds of  _real_ people around her.

(Not that she'll ever tell him this,  _ever_. He already thinks she doesn't trust people.)

"I'm just busy playing  _the Sims_." She answers casually with a shrug of the shoulder and clicks away.

"You like the virtual world too much." Brandon comments softly, making her frown further. "It's Spring, the sun's out and flowers are blooming. Let's go to the park and watch the dogs run around." He says, though it sounds more like a plead.

When she doesn't answer, he sighs.

"Is that a new  _Sim_  family?" He asks, maybe out of curiosity. But she suspects it's to be polite.

She nods. "Yeah,"

"What happened to the old one?"

"I got bored of them." Susan mutters. Then she immediately feels  _guilty_.

His kind eyes squint and his brows pluck together. "But all of your  _Sims_  look the same."

Her fingers hover over the keyboard. "I know." Susan doesn't deny this, she thinks all her creations suffer from same face syndrome.

"Then why do you keep making new ones?"

"Um," She chews on the bottom of her lip.

The thing about her is, she has a pattern, a familiar routine she likes to stick to. But, she also gets awfully bored easily. She tells herself whatever she makes is  _new_  and  _exciting_ , but it isn't.

She always creates the same vision over and over again. This virtual family, for example: they always consist of the same thing on the inside, Susan just tries covering it up by modifying the outside bits. She's built a new house and spent maybe three hours decorating every nook and cranny in detail. Susan wonders if Brandon's mad at her now. She wouldn't blame him if he said so, he built her five separate  _Sim_  houses last time – all beautiful, all well-designed and custom-made – just for her and her fantasies. He really put a lot of thought into his gifts for her (much like everything he's spoken to her), and here she is, not appreciating them.

"Maybe I should take a break." She tells him, agreeing to his offer.

He smiles. "Come on then, I bet someone will let us pet their dogs if we're nice enough."

"You're always nice." She comments. Susan thinks Brandon's a good person, she just doesn't know why he stays with someone as  _boring_  and as  _difficult_ as her. She means, well,  _look at him_ , coming over just to babysit her.

He smiles again, wobbly and shy. "So are you."

Something strikes her in the chest. "What?"

"You're nice too." He tells her, repeating, but she doesn't believe him.

* * *

"Do you think you'll ever get bored of me?" He asks her one day. She can tell his anxiety is attacking him, spreading over his face and chest and hands.

A horrid feeling attacks her too. She thinks,  _oh no_ , she's done it –  _again_. She's made him feel bad.

"Why would you say that?" She almost snaps at him. She's angry that he'd say that about himself, but she did this to him, didn't she? She planted these seeds in his mind. "I'd never get bored of you."  _I want to be by your side forever._

"That's …" His mouth twists. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She says with a will so strong, she thinks nothing can say otherwise. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because, I love you too."

She – She never said she _loved_  him. But, she's showed it aplenty and she wonders when did he start assuming everything she's done for him equals love.

"You know that, right?" He asks.

Does she know that? Well, she –

He's always said it around her but …

Susan freezes, unable to answer.

"And because we care about each other so much, I think we should take a break." Brandon's words rang clear like the blue sky above their head and as loud as the colours of his socks.

Susan looks away view before them – at the children playing, at the dogs running and the elderly couples together – then casts him a sideways glance. "What do you mean?" How can he make her confess her feelings for him like that then snatch the hope away from her eyes? "Are you breaking up with me?"

"No. No, never." He snatches her hand, afraid she'd run away from him and tuck herself away where nobody can find her. "I just – it's –"

"What?" She prods. Brandon's usually so careful around his words. Sometimes he'd make her wait  _days_  before he gives her a response.

"You're making me doubt myself, Su. I don't want that. I don't want to doubt how I feel about you." Brandon confesses and he may as well be in a church with his head bowed, eyes closed and white-knuckle hands squeezed together.

The hand he's holding begins to shake and she clasps them together to stop the violent act. Stop.  _Stop it._ Keep it together!

"I tell you how I feel all the time. I tell you I love you, but you don't … you don't believe me. I can see the doubt in your eyes and it  _unsettles_  me. You say it back in your own way, you're kind enough to do so, but you don't bring yourself to believe my words and I don't understand why." Brandon says. It must have taken  _a lot_ from him to say that. It must have taken  _so much_  to confront her.

And, she feels her insides churn. It's not his fault. It's not. It's hers. She just –

"You don't trust anyone." He says like he's reading her mind. "You think you're alone on everything. And when something goes wrong, you blame yourself."

He knows her so well,  _too well_ , and it makes her sick to the stomach.

"I –" Her mouth quivers. God,  _she's about to cry_. "I'm sorry that I made you feel bad."

"See? There you go again, stop blaming yourself." He scolds.

 _Who am I supposed to blame then?_ She thinks.  _You? Do you want me to blame you? Because, I can't do that._

"You shouldn't be blaming anyone." Brandon says, it's like he's reading her thoughts again. "Things happen all the time  _for no apparent reason_. The universe works in strange ways, Su, you must understand."

And maybe he's only saying this because he's worked so hard to try to understand people. To try to push his social anxiety away so he can be reasonable when the unpleasant paranoia grabs a hold of him and tells him,  _They're looking at_ _ **you**_ _. Everybody is_ _ **looking**_ _at you and they're_ _ **judging**_ _you and - do you see that group of friends laughing? Do you? They're_ _ **laughing**_ _at you, Brandon. They're laughing at you because you're weird and weak and pathetic,_ he can think logically.

"Come with me," Brandon says suddenly, voice still soft, he dusts his pants and gets to his feet.

"Where?" Susan asks. Despite everything, despite him confirming her  _worst nightmare_ , she would willingly follow him to the ends of the earth and to the moon and back.

"I've drawn you some houses, they're in my sketchbook at home."

She raises a brow.

"I made them – just for you." The colour on his cheeks deepened, something the sunlight helps bring out. "Eight houses." He tells her.

Eight? "Why?"

"I wanted you to know, no matter where you go, no matter what, I'll be there. You're just lost, that's why you're constantly changing, that's why you're constantly on the move. But, the thing is, you're not looking for  _a perfect place_ , you're looking for  _the right people_ , and I think you can find them, you already have a type, you just need to learn who they are." He says like a wise old man. "I'll come back. I'll come back  _for you_ , I promise. I just think that we need to  _work on each other._  Me with my social anxiety and you with your trust and blameworthiness. I don't want us tearing each other to pieces, we haven't even found ourselves yet. When we're together again, I want to be confident enough to mean what I say and I want you to believe them."

Then he takes her hand, warm and bolder than his usual shy self, lifting her to her feet. The grassy field disappears and they walk in a singular line under a tunnel, dark and gratified, but there's a light at the end.

She watches him while they walk with link hands. His hair darker and his back is lean. His limbs are long –  _too long_ , she thinks. His jeans never did fit him right, his cuffs hiking up his ankles and showing off his brightly coloured socks.

She makes several mental notes – (1) to never forget the image of him and (2) to grow, to expand, to be better, not just for him, but for herself too.

* * *

**end**

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I woke up three times the same night and the first thought that entered my mind was – God, I miss you.
> 
> – 18 April 2019


End file.
